


Seventeen Days

by SR240



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassins, Boys In Love, But that serves a purpose don't worry, Canon Compliant, Canon LGBTQ Character, Dorks in Love, Early Runaan/Ethari, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Moonshadow Elves (The Dragon Prince), Pregnancy, Runaan is useless when it comes to feelings, Runaan kind of got around before Ethari, Sweet, They're just super in love ok, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SR240/pseuds/SR240
Summary: Seventeen days since the wedding.  Seventeen days since he’d danced with Runaan around the bonfire.  Seventeen days since the assassins had been called away so suddenly and unexpectedly.  Seventeen days since the words."I’m in love with you."
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 170





	Seventeen Days

**Author's Note:**

> HUUUUUUUUUGE shoutout to beautifulterriblequeen for being the best beta ever and doing a STELLAR job editing this. You're the best! Also, go read her stuff. Especially A Hundred Hellos, which remains to this day the best Runaari fic I've ever laid eyes on and to which there are a few callbacks in here. :) (With her blessing.)
> 
> There be no outright citrus here, but it does get a little suggestive. If that's not your bag, that's your warning to beg off now. Otherwise, enjoy sweet Runaari Origin Fluff! Rayla is a wee little newborn in this, so I have Runaan/Ethari/Lain/Tiadrin in their early 20s here.

“I’m worried about him.”

Lain typically wasn’t one for discretion, so when his voice was hushed and low, Tiadrin knew she had cause for concern. Her favorite stand in the market had a particularly impressive array of options today, but that could wait. She looked up from the linens she’d been sorting through and met her husband’s eyes.

“Who?”

He tried to keep his head tilt subtle as he indicated the fruit stand, where Runaan was sorting through plums, turning them over in his hand, seemingly examining for too-soft spots. To a stranger not paying attention, nothing would’ve seemed amiss. But even from a distance, Tiadrin could see their friend wasn’t really looking _at_ it – more _through_ it. Like he was staring off into space, deep in thought, and the plum just happened to be in the way.

She sighed, turned back to Lain.

“Did they see each other this morning?”

Lain nodded. “Briefly. Ethari was by to pick up some more gemstones from Ineyra. I think he has a few jewelry commissions coming up. There was an…awkward interaction. You know how it is with them.” His voice was pained.

Tiadrin gave a knowing look. Making sure to keep her voice down, she smoothed one hand over the folded silk in front of her, contemplating whether or not it was suitable for the carrier she was going to need to make for when the baby arrived. Her other hand landed absently on her protruding belly. 

“Why do you think he hasn’t made a move yet?” she whispered.

Lain tossed his hands up in exasperation. “That’s just it! I have no idea! This has been going on forever, now. He _clearly_ wants him. And,” his eyebrows rose into his hairline, “it’s been a _while_.”

Tiadrin quirked an eyebrow.

“For Runaan, it has!” Lian retorted, a little defensively. “Come on. Typically there’s a new…well…”

“Boy Toy?”

Lain leveled her with a half-amused glare. “I was going to say _conquest.”_

“ _Conquest_ is better than ‘Boy Toy?’ In what world?”

Lain rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Anyway…yeah. Every few weeks, you know that.”

She did. “Has it really been that long?”

“I know for a fact there hasn’t been anyone since he’s met Ethari,” Lain replied, with a certainty beyond question. He stuffed a few scrolls of parchment into his bag, dropping some coins into the payment jar. At Tiadrin’s look of true surprise, he shrugged. “I know. That’s what I mean. I wasn’t exaggerating, Sweetie. It’s been _months_.” They sauntered down the path a bit further, putting a more welcomed distance between themselves and the subject of their conversation, stopping in front of the mead stand.

“I mean…it’s definitely mutual. Why do you think he’s hesitating?”

“It’s not just the hesitation,” he said, picking up a cask of apple honey mead, turning it around to read the label. “It’s all of it. It’s _the way_ they interact. How they talk to each other. It’s…”

Tiadrin nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“So you’ve seen it too.”

She nodded, looking a little relieved. “I’m glad I’m not alone.”

“He’s like an entirely different person,” Lain said, moving onto the next cask, huckleberry spice. “Like he…he just…I don’t know how to describe it. He’s just so…” he gesticulated, searching for the word.

“Not confident,” Tiadrin finished for him.

Lain’s eyes lit up. “Yes! That! _Exactly_ that.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s bizarre to watch. He’s always been so confident and comfortable around guys. Just really in control and sure of himself. Then you put Ethari in front of him and it’s like that Runaan just _vanishes_. I don’t know where he goes, but…” 

He drummed his fingernails against the wood of the shelving, shaking his head.

“I know. We’ve literally never seen him like this,” Tiadrin offered. “Apple honey.”

Lain’s eyebrows rose. “But you can’t drink any.”

She fixed him with a look. “I’ll be able to soon! And you better not finish the whole thing off before I can.”

Lain nodded, both in agreement of her statement and acknowledging her choice of mead. He dropped the coins into the merchant’s hand and stuffed the bottle into his bag, along with the parchment rolls. When he looked back at his wife, however, he stopped short.

Tiadrin’s entire expression had changed. Where before she’d been relaxed and exploratory, she suddenly was frozen to the spot, as though something shocking had just occurred to her, or she’d seen something terrifying. His brow furrowed.

“Tiadrin?”

She looked up at Lain, eyebrows raised.

“We’ve literally never seen him like this,” she repeated.

He stared at her.

“Right,” he acknowledged awkwardly. When she didn’t elaborate, he cocked his head. “And…it’s weird.”

“It would be,” she replied slowly, and Lain suddenly had the impression she was choosing her words very, very carefully. “Unless…” she looked at him in a way that was practically begging him to Just Get It.

He wasn’t. “Sweetheart, I need you to be more –”

“Unless he actually has feelings for him.”

Lain stopped dead in his tracks.

“Feelings?”

She nodded.

“Like… _romantic_ feelings?”

She nodded again, pursing her lips into a thin line.

“ _Runaan_?”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He barked a loud laugh, making several passersby jump a bit, startled. Tiadrin shot him an admonishing look.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, folding his arms. “But _come on_. You can't seriously be suggesting that.”

Tiadrin didn’t laugh. “It explains literally everything, honey.”

Lain’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shite. You _are_ serious.”

“It’s not totally impossible!” She plunked her hands on her hips.

“For Runaan it just may be! Sex, fine, he’s all about that. As we’ve seen. Many times. But feelings? Like, _love_ feelings? It’s not his thing. Focused, “married to the job and the job alone.” Assassin’s Creed and whatnot. You know that.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Lain,” Tiadrin insisted firmly. When he laughed again, she rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“What’s the first lesson they teach us in training, eh? There’s _always_ an exception to _every_ rule!”

“But –”

“Lain, come _on_. Really think about it. What other possible explanation could there be? Are you seriously going to tell me the thought hadn’t crossed your mind at all?”

“No! It really didn’t!” His hands fell limply to his sides, and his voice suddenly fell back to a hushed whisper. 

“Do you really think that’s it?” 

Tiadrin made a sweeping gesture with her hands, one that clearly said, “you got a better idea?” A long silence fell between them. They stared at each other.

Tiadrin broke it first. When she spoke, any trace of amusement and mirth was gone from her tone. “Sweetheart…you’ve seen them together. The way he looks at him. The way they _look at each other_. Always thinking of any excuse, no matter how flimsy, to spend time together? Their “evening walks” together that go until sunrise? The 90 visits a day to Ethari’s shop to fix things that _totally do not need to be fixed_? The “working lunches” so that “Ethari can watch him train?” I mean…come on. I know I didn’t marry someone this dense.”

Lain nodded. “Of course. Of course I noticed that. I guess I just…I don’t know. Runaan is so… _not that_. It just really, honestly didn’t occur to me that that was even an option. I really thought it was just another physical thing and for some reason he was moving much slower than usual.” He sighed, and looked back towards their friend, who had migrated to the mead table himself and was now pretending to read a flask of moonberry mead.

He turned back to his wife.

“So what are we going to do about this?”

*****

“There you are.”

Runaan gasped slightly, jerked out of his reverie by a voice that was both the most welcome thing on Earth and yet at the same time anything but calming. His heart immediately flew up into his throat, and he swallowed hard before turning towards his visitor.

“Ethari. Hello.”

Ethari smiled and Runaan felt his heart squeeze in that all-too-familiar-by-now painful but pleasurable way. The craftsman held a basket to his hip that sparkled with a mix of different metals and some colorful jewels.

“I’m not interrupting a meditation, am I?” Ethari bit his lower lip in concern. The gesture was far too distracting, and Runaan had to resist the temptation to imagine pressing a kiss to the spot.

“Not at all. I was finished.” He hopped down from his spot atop the rock, landing so softly no one – not even Ethari, who was standing quite close yet not close enough for Runaan’s liking – could’ve heard him.

He gestured slightly with his head towards the basket. “More jewelry commissions?”

Ethari smiled again and Runaan felt that same kick in the pelvis he always did whenever so. “No, actually. A wedding gift.”

“Aisling and Marek?”

Ethari laughed, causing a flutter in Runaan’s chest. “Aisling and Marek. Who else? This is going to be one hell of a party.”

Runaan straightened his back, folding his hands behind him, the picture of control and poise. He allowed himself a small smile in return. “I doubt the Silvergrove will have seen such a wedding in decades, or ever will again.”

“On that note,” Ethari said, and Runaan immediately picked up on the change in his energy. The other elf’s cheeks had dusted pink, and he began to awkwardly shift his weight from one foot to the other, attempting to appear casual and – in Runaan’s opinion, at least – not doing a very good job at it.

“On that note?”

Ethari licked his lips nervously, hugging his basket a bit closer to his body. “That’s actually why I was looking for you. I wanted to know if you…well, I was wondering who…if you’d…”

The realization of what was happening suddenly hit Runaan with brute force. Light-headedness consumed him, and he just barely managed to stop himself from swooning. He swallowed hard, worried he might choke on his own tongue if he tried to speak, to help Ethari get the words out.

“I was wondering if you knew who you were going with yet?”

Runaan stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

_Is this happening?_

_Is this really happening?_

_No. It can’t be. I’m imagining this._

Ethari seemed to interpret his lack of immediate response as hesitation, and his eyes widened. Quickly, he moved to smooth it over.

“I mean, if you’d rather go stag, that’s fine! I totally understand. I just…I need a plus one still, and if you also did, I was thinking that maybe…but we don’t have to! It’s not a problem at all if –”

“I’d love to.”

Ethari’s smile was incandescent, and Runaan had to double check to make sure his feet were still touching the ground.

*****

_I have no idea what to wear to this._

It wasn’t that Runaan didn’t have a standard assortment of clothes for special events – he was Moonshadow, after all – it was more that his ability to make smart, efficient decisions quickly seemed to extend only so far as his work. Which is why he was still standing in front of his closet 45 minutes after having opened it, eyes repeatedly going back and forth over the far-too-orderly racks, trying to decide which…well, flowy, sparkling white tunic was the _right_ flowy, sparkling white tunic for such an occasion.

And by “such an occasion,” he didn’t mean the wedding, although he was fond of both bride and groom. If he was being totally honest with himself, the wedding was a complete afterthought.

It had been a week since Ethari had found him after his mediation in the grove and extended the invite to be his plus one, and – excepting the essentials like eating, sleeping, and bathing – Runaan’s thoughts had been more or less completely consumed by only that one, singular thing every single waking hour since.

_A date. Call it what it is. It’s a date._

His stomach swooped, as though he’d missed a step going down a flight of stairs.

He sighed, turned away, and sat down on his bed, sinking into the soft, pillowy cushion of his mattress. Placing his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward, dropping his face into his hands.

_I’m really bad at this._

It probably seemed absurd that a young adult elf of his age was so lost at the concept of going on a date with a man he cared for far, far, far more than he ever thought possible, but the simple truth was that when it came to romance, Runaan was utterly useless, and he knew it.

Some of that wasn’t entirely his own shortcomings – while assassins weren’t _forbidden_ from forming romantic attachments or getting married per se, there was definitely an unspoken rule that such practices weren’t exactly encouraged. Many of the older masters, who were the more senior authorities on such matters, still outnumbered the younger elders who had started to evolve with the times. The general feeling was that the only marriage an assassin should truly enter into was one with the job itself; anything else risked being too big a distraction, or, Moon forbid, a weapon wielded by the enemy. A partner and children were perfect targets if someone from Katolis, or even a Xadian hostile, wanted to expose and prod at a weak spot.

And it wasn’t just about physical risk, either. Most elves, understandably so, had serious qualms about binding themselves to someone in such a precarious profession, who could constantly be killed or seriously hurt at a moment’s notice, who always had a duty they had to put before anything and anyone else. For those reasons and many others, most people entering the assassin way of life considered it simply not worth the risk. Their duty was their One True Love.

His entire life long, Runaan had firmly believed himself to be one of those elves.

Sex was easy and uncomplicated. There was no taboo against that, and Runaan, intense and focused as he was, had learned early that physical pleasure was one of the best ways to blow off steam. And he wasn’t naïve; he became aware equally early that he held a certain allure for most men of his predilection, and that he was as skilled at sex as he was at taking. Finding partners had always been easy and amusing, a fun way to pass the downtime and satisfy certain powerful urges. He’d always made his intentions clear – this was a mutually pleasurable transaction and nothing more – and for the most part, with one or two sticky exceptions, it had worked out well for him. It was good, orderly and clean, the three things he valued above all else; if you had nothing, you had nothing to lose. His heart was reserved for his work – he had no interest in entrusting it to another person.

Then he had met Ethari.

And suddenly, everything Runaan had thought to be true – everything he had ever believed about himself – was thrown wildly into question.

The craftsman was kindhearted to a fault. He was generous. He was smart. He was beautiful. He remembered little details about people that no one else did. He had a smile and a laugh that lit up the room, a fierce protective streak, and a playfulness that had been able to coax more smiles and laughter out of Runaan in a few months than anyone else had ever been able to in an entire lifetime. He was messy and disorganized. He was the most loyal of friends. He was brave, and soft, and gentle, and when he listened to you speak, it was like what you were saying was the most important thing on Earth – like what you had to say _mattered_ , truly mattered.

He was everything Runaan had never known he wanted - and it had _shocked_ him, how deeply and desperately he wanted him.

It was an ache. A constant ache. An ache that throbbed in his chest, in his throat, in his head and in his groin. An ache that he knew – absolutely knew – sex alone would not be enough to relieve. Runaan had felt desire before, sometimes even intensely, or at least he thought he had. But nothing before had ever felt this way – where bedding wouldn’t be enough, where he was thinking of every excuse, no matter how paltry and specious, to be in Ethari’s presence; where he’d be willing to rearrange every single plan he had in his day just for a chance of hearing his voice or his laugh, where the thought of someone – anyone else – touching Ethari _that way_ made Runaan feel absolutely sick.

He knew things were bad – very, very bad – when he’d found himself staring down at his bow, having _just snapped his own string_ , just to have an excuse to go back to Ethari’s shop for the 5th time that week. Ethari had responded in kind by producing what was, by far, the most beautiful weapon Runaan had ever wielded – a bowblade that served both as bow and sword. It had taken the craftsman two weeks to complete, and when he’d handed it over to Runaan, the tips of their fingers had brushed together, and Runaan had nearly dropped it, his hands were shaking so hard. Ethari’s moonberry blush had been unmistakable.

He didn’t know when he’d gone from someone who would see a man he liked, confidently stride up to him, and have him in his bed not even an hour later to someone who, the last time he and Ethari had gone for one of their many, many evening strolls, kept trying to find the courage just to reach out and take his hand. Once or twice, their knuckles had brushed together, and Runaan had felt hot all over, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The idea of Ethari’s rejection was unbearable, that was true. But the idea of giving his heart away – of truly loving someone, truly being vulnerable, truly letting him in – was equally unbearable, if not even more so.

Runaan had always prided himself on never losing his composure with a partner. On always remaining in charge, always remaining in control, never growing flustered or displaying even a shred of vulnerability. It was safer like that. His walls were high and impenetrable, and he liked it that way. Slowly but surely, however, over the months, Ethari had dismantled them, brick by brick, and Runaan, much to his own surprise, had made absolutely no move to stop him. Every late night walk where they’d talk about everything and anything, every communal dinner, every evening bonfire or trip to the market, every time they met “to work on weapon design,” every interaction was just one more layer of protection stripped away. The bravado, the overconfidence, all of it – it had all been shed until all that was left was an entirely different version of himself. One who would give anything – _absolutely anything_ – to have someone who he still, despite all signs to the contrary, desperately feared wouldn’t have him.

_I’m a mess._

He pulled his face from his hands, stood back up and walked back over to his closet. Time was running out. He had to make a decision.

_I have to make a decision._

*****

“You look beautiful.”

The filter from Runaan’s brain to his mouth seemed to have utterly malfunctioned, and he winced internally. _Too forward. Far too forward._

Ethari seemed to disagree. A pretty flush spread across his cheeks, and his eyes twinkled. “You look okay.”

Runaan’s eyes widened, and Ethari laughed. Even after all this time, Runaan was still far, far too easy to mess with.

“I’m kidding. You look perfect. I’m pretty sure that the _groom_ is supposed to be the most handsome one there, though. That might be a problem.”

The words hit their mark perfectly. Runaan’s throat bobbed with a rough swallow, and Ethari saw his cheeks glow pink.

“You’re too kind.” A tiny smile bloomed on his lips as he looked down at his hands, which he had been absent mindedly twisting together, and he immediately separated them, trying to wipe them discreetly on his tunic and fold them behind his back in an obvious attempt to appear poised.

Ethari felt his heart swell with affection. Feeling bold, he reached out and coaxed Runaan’s hand from behind his back, taking it in his. He heard the other elf gasp softly, and felt his heart flutter in his chest.

“We better hurry. We want to get a good spot!” He turned and pulled Runaan after him, working through the crowd. He could feel Runaan’s pulse under his fingers, racing in a feverish rhythm.

Their hands stayed joined throughout the ceremony.

*****

“Needed a break?”

Runaan’s stargazing was interrupted by Tiadrin’s familiar brogue. He turned to see her approach – although at this point it was more of a waddle – and immediately stood up off the rock he’d been perched on. 

“You should sit,” he offered, reaching out to help her. She waved him off dismissively.

“I’m pregnant, not helpless,” she clarified, rubbing her hands over her belly. Runaan frowned.

“You’re _quite_ pregnant, actually,” he pointed out. “Pregnant enough that I’ve actually been worried you’d steal their thunder and this would become a birthing rather than a wedding.” 

Tiadrin laughed. “Honestly, there’d be no better place to do so. Surrounded by the whole community. I’d get all the immediate medical attention I need.” She paused, looking down at her feet. “Although now that you mention it, my feet are getting kind of swollen. This kid is doing a number on me. I’ll take you up on your offer.” She moved to sit.

Runaan helped ease her down onto the rock. Her gaze lifted up towards the Moon, bright and perfect and full. “It’s really a perfect night for a wedding,” she commented, a little wistfully.

Runaan followed her gaze. “It is.”

“You looked like you were having fun,” Tiadrin remarked, in a tone that Runaan immediately recognized as the one she used when she was trying to broach a particularly delicate subject.

His pulse quickened. “I was.”

“That was…quite a dance.”

 _Oh no. Please don’t._ His face burned. He was grateful for the darkness.

“It kind of looked like you’d gotten a little swept up in the moment.”

Runaan couldn’t look at her. He kept his gaze directed up at the sky, hugging his arms tightly to his middle.

“Like you _both_ did.”

A beat.

“I’d had a fair amount of moonberry wine. I got away from myself.”

“Is that why you ran?”

Runaan whirled around. “I didn’t run.”

Tiadrin fixed him with a look. “You absolutely, 100% _did_ run.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come. Runaan was many things, but a good liar, he was not.

“I needed some air.” That was true.

“You seem upset.”

He couldn’t deny that, either.

He hadn’t meant to get so carried away. Hadn’t meant to completely lose himself in what was, hands down, the best night of his life so far. Hadn’t meant to get completely swept up in the joy of Ethari’s presence to the point where he blatantly forgot anyone else was even present. He hadn’t meant to catch Ethari in his arms when the other elf had stumbled a bit, his head no doubt a little fuzzy with moonberry wine and the warmth of the bonfire. Hadn’t meant to lift his hand to his cheek. Hadn’t meant to gaze into his eyes, hadn’t meant to see the very clear, borderline pleading request in them. _Do it. Do it now. Please._

Hadn’t meant to turn and flee, instead.

He looked down at his feet, digging his toe of his boot into the dirt. His throat constricted, and for one horrible moment, he was overwhelmed with the sudden, ridiculous urge to cry. Something that Tiadrin – despite being his best friend of several years – had never seen him do. And if he had anything to say about it, it was going to stay that way.

He desperately blinked back the tears that swam in his vision. Tiadrin waited, patiently.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The words came out tight and garbled. He finally found the courage to lift his eyes to her face, and when he did, he was surprised to see that her usual teasing demeanor was completely absent. In its place was a mix of thoughtfulness and empathy that, coming from anyone else, would’ve seemed dangerously close to pity - and would’ve absolutely incensed him. Coming from Tiadrin, however, it landed exactly as intended.

“I know,” she said softly.

There was a long silence. When she spoke again, her voice was kind.

“You’re in love with him.”

Hearing the words actually spoken aloud was like getting punched in the gut. He chewed on his lower lip, but said nothing, swallowing hard. He looked down at his feet again, feeling more exposed than he could ever remember feeling in his entire life. Inside of him, intense relief warred with the hatred of vulnerability. It suddenly hit him, full force, just how exhausted he was from all those years of maintaining his impenetrable façade.

“Runaan.”

He looked up at her.

“That’s okay. It’s okay that you’re in love with him.”

He shook his head. Tiadrin lurched to her feet, supporting her lower back as she did so.

“I know it’s not…encouraged. And I know this has never happened to you before. And I’m not even saying you necessarily have to do anything with it. But it’s okay that you feel it. It’s not a weakness. It’s not a bad thing. Especially…especially when it’s reciprocated. And Runaan, _it is reciprocated_.”

His eyes widened. “Has…has he said something to you?”

She shook her head. “Not with words. But he doesn’t have to. It’s all over him. Just like it’s all over you.”

Runaan looked back in the direction of the party, where distant voices and music could still be heard. No doubt that the subject of their conversation was there, wondering what had happened. The thought made his heart squeeze with guilt.

“I’m not enough for him.” The words were out before he could stop himself.

Tiadrin scoffed. “Now you’re being ridiculous,” she replied.

“Am I?” he asked softly. When Tiadrin didn’t answer, he turned his palms up helplessly. “He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known, Tiadrin. He’s soft, and good, and kind, and knows how to make people feel loved and happy, and…he could have anyone. Literally anyone. There’s no reason why he would…” his words trailed off.

Tiadrin frowned. “Why would you think that?”

Runaan fixed her with a look that clearly indicated he believed the answer to be obvious. “Listen to how I just described him. Can you honestly say any of those qualities apply to me?”

Tiadrin stared at him for a beat, and Runaan detected a bit of heartbreak in her eyes.

“Yes, actually. I can say that.”

The skepticism must’ve shown plainly on his face, because she stepped closer to him, placing her palm on his forearm. “Runaan, being quiet and reserved, and being a good and kind person, are not mutually exclusive traits. You are _one of the kindest people I know_. You’re honest but never cruel. You are _every bit_ as good a listener as Ethari is. You treat people with respect and dignity. Even the ones you take. You would do _anything_ \- you _have_ done anything - to protect your loved ones and keep us safe. We’re not naive - yes, you’ve taken vows, but everyone who knows and loves you knows that you serve _for us_. You literally put everyone else before you every single day. You’re probably the most selfless person I’ve ever met. You may not believe this, and I’m so sorry if we haven’t made this clear, but you make us feel every bit as loved and happy as he does. It’s just in a different way, _because you’re different people_. That’s all.”

There was a heavy silence, in which Runaan stared at her, amazed. An odd lump formed in his throat, which he had to clear to speak around. “That’s...that’s how you really feel?”

She nodded. “It’s how we all feel. And, totally aside from that, don’t you think we should let Ethari decide for himself what – or who – is enough for him?”

Runaan blinked, silenced by her verbal checkmate. However, he was spared from having to think of a response to the far-too-astute question by a familiar voice piercing the night air.

“Runaan! Are you out here?”

Branneg. Runaan’s brow furrowed, and it was like a switch flipped – immediately all business, not a single trace of susceptibility left behind. He turned in the direction of the rapidly approaching footsteps.

“Yes, I’m here. What is it, Branneg?”

****

Ethari’s breaths came in short bursts, his heart hammering against his rib cage as he careened down the path with long, sure strides. His eyes swam with tears. His hands shook. The lump lodged painfully in his throat threatened to dissolve into gulps of sobs at any moment, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other, determined to get to his destination as quickly as possible.

Ethari didn’t knock, didn’t wait for an invite. He merely barged in, still decked out in all his wedding finery.

Runaan was exactly where Ethari knew he’d find him – standing before his fireplace, holding his bowblade, that precious bowblade, Ethari’s heart in weapon form, so carefully crafted, so lovingly given. His back was stiff and still, waves of tension emanating from his body, his long hair like a waterfall caught on fire. Upon hearing Ethari’s entrance, the assassin turned to look at him.

They stared at each other for a long time. Word of the mission - the most dangerous that had come up in a long while - had spread through the reception like wildfire, and its sudden presence hung like a dead body between them. At first, Ethari was afraid to speak, for fear that doing so would cause him to lose his composure.

_So what if I do?_

Emboldened, he swallowed roughly.

“Were you even going to say goodbye?”

All traces of the Runaan from a few hours ago - the one where small smiles quirked on his lips, the one who had allowed himself to laugh a bit while dancing with Ethari, the one with a rosy blush on his cheeks, the one who had ever, ever so gently rubbed his thumb against the back of Ethari’s hand during the nuptials - had seemingly vanished into thin air. In his place was the Runaan Ethari immediately recognized as being in Work Mode - the one that made his stomach drop. His face betrayed not a single emotion, his turquoise eyes cold as ice. It was like a huge, invisible-yet-impenetrable barrier had been erected between them. They were standing only 3 feet apart, and yet Ethari had never felt further away from him.

“I’ll see you when I return.” Runaan’s voice was flat and cold. Hard mode. Ready to leave and do his duty. _Married to the job and the job alone._

It was like a dagger to the heart. Ethari shook his head, feeling the tears brimming, threatening to spill over. “And when is that going to be?”

Runaan just stared at him. For the briefest of moments, his eyes seemed to glaze over, but Ethari couldn’t know for sure because Runaan looked away too quickly, his jaw set like steel.

It was no use. Ethari tried, once again, to desperately swallow back the lump in his throat.

“Well then,” he choked out. “If that’s the case, then stay safe, Runaan.”

He turned on his heel, grateful to finally be facing the opposite direction, where Runaan couldn’t see him if his face finally crumbled. He felt his heart begin to crack open as he made his way towards the door, until Runaan’s voice stopped him.

“Ethari, wait.”

And just like that, within two seconds, an entirely different voice - this one thick with sentiment. The craftsman froze, warring with himself. He so desperately wanted to turn around, but he knew he was dangerously close to losing it, and his earlier bravado about not caring if he did so was rapidly fading.

The first desire won out, and he gave in, turning to face Runaan. This time, there was no doubt whether or not there were tears in the assassin’s eyes; Ethari could see the droplets clinging to his lashes. A small gasp escaped his lips. Just as swiftly and rapidly as the ice had formed, it had melted again, and the Runaan in front of him had never looked more vulnerable.

“I wanted to say goodbye,” Runaan said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I tried to. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Ethari took a step closer. He knew that this was coming to a head – that they were rapidly approaching the point where there could be no turning back, no taking anything back – but nothing could be done to stop it now, and truth be told, he didn’t want to.

“Why?”

Runaan’s gaze was pained, before it dropped to his feet. “You know why,” he said, so softly Ethari could barely hear him.

There was a long silence. Ethari knew in all good conscience that he couldn’t truthfully respond with a denial. He hugged his arms tightly to his waist, feeling himself nod. All he could do was lean into it at this point.

“I do,” he responded, equally softly.

Another silence. This one was almost deafening. And it was in that moment, where there was nothing to distract, nothing to hide behind, no excuses left, that Ethari finally decided to throw caution entirely to the wind.

“Runaan, I – ”

“I’m in love with you.”

Ethari gasped, much louder than last time.

Runaan was actively trembling by this point, as though he were physically straining to hold everything – all that was and had been hanging between them – inside with every last bit of strength he had. Which is why it didn’t seem strange at all that when he started speaking, the words tumbled out of him like water bursting forth from a broken dam.

“I know. I know I have no right to say this to you now, here, just when I’m about to leave. But it’s the truth, and it’s always been the truth, and at this point not saying it is starting to feel like I’m lying every time I’m with you. And I know I haven’t handled this well. I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to handle being afraid. I’ve spent my whole life, ever since I was a small elfling, never being afraid of anything. I know that sounds arrogant, but it’s true. My masters always were frustrated that they couldn’t use any fears against me in my training, because I didn’t _have_ any fears. I truly didn’t. I don’t know why. It’s probably not even a good thing. It’s probably not healthy to never feel afraid of anything. But it’s just not an emotion I’ve ever had to deal with. Not until I met you.”

Ethari felt wetness on his cheeks, and he knew the tears had brimmed over. But he couldn’t look away, couldn’t focus on anything but Runaan’s near-manic confession.

“And that probably sounds insulting, but it’s not. I don’t mean it that way. I truly don’t. But I’ve always been brave. The bravest of all the initiates. Always the most confident. Always in control. Not just in my work, but with…other things. Personal...relationships. If you could call them that.” His gaze hooded a bit, as though he feared offending Ethari by bringing that up.

But offense was the furthest thing from the craftsman’s mind.

“I never wanted anything from anyone. Not beyond physical release. I was too focused on my work – that was always my biggest, _my only_ , priority. I never was afraid, because I never had anything to lose, with any of them. I never had any intention of giving my heart away, to anyone. I honestly had myself convinced I was incapable of it. And then you arrived in my life, and even then, even knowing it was different with you, I still tried not to. But it turns out it didn’t matter, because you just reached out and took it. And now…” his voice caught, and Runaan mimicked Ethari’s own posture, hugging his forearms against himself tightly, as though he were trying to physically hold himself together.

“Now…I’m afraid. _I’m scared_. Now…I have something to lose. Something I want more than anything in the world. And…”

He gulped.

“And I don’t know what to do.”

Silence.

The feeling of the massive, million-pound weight that had been pressing atop them both for months lifting up and falling away was dizzying, terrifying, and exhilarating. Ethari took his first full, deep breath in what felt like ages – since the moment he’d met Runaan. Then, almost as if another force was acting for him, he felt himself step forward, his heart battering against his ribcage with each footprint, until he was standing directly in front of the other elf. He reached out, gingerly – the first to drop the armor – and placed his hands on Runaan’s still-tightly-folded forearms.

“So am I,” he whispered.

Runaan’s turquoise gaze pierced directly into Ethari’s amber one. He shook his head, his throat bobbing spasmodically.

“No. It’s different for you. You’ve…been attached to people before. Maybe even loved them. You know how to do this. Taki was courting you when we first met – ”

“And I broke up with him almost the second I first met you.” Ethari cut him off, his tone firm bordering on desperation, even to his own ears.

Runaan froze, blinking in stunned shock.

“You...you did?”

“It’s never been like this. Never anything remotely like this.” Ethari slid his hands down to Runaan’s wrists, coaxing him gently to give up his hands into his own. Their gazes locked together. “Never,” he repeated, willing – begging – Runaan to believe him.

It appeared that Runaan didn’t need much convincing. “Really?” he whispered, so vulnerable it almost broke Ethari’s heart.

Ethari nodded. Gently, as if he were afraid of startling him, he reached up, wiping a dangling tear off of Runaan’s lower lash with his thumb. But he let his hand rest there, cupping his cheek with his palm. Runaan’s eyes closed, and he leaned into the touch, reaching up to cover Ethari’s hand with his own.

Then – so soft and regrettably brief it was over before Ethari could fully process it – he pressed a kiss into Ethari’s palm.

Ethari’s breath hitched. Their eyes met again, and Runaan was so, so close, and…

“Runaan! Hurry!”

Ethari was forced to drop his hand as Runaan whirled around. Branneg – suited up, ready to go – was standing at the door. Behind him, shadowpaws and running footsteps could be heard, the unmistakable noise of the team rolling out. There was a moment of pause, where Branneg seemed to understand what he’d interrupted. His expression softened only the tiniest bit.

“My apologies,” he said formally. “But I’m afraid we can’t delay. We need every second of nightfall we can get if we’re going to get there before sunrise.”

“I’m coming,” Runaan responded, before turning back to look at Ethari, his expression pained.

“Ethari…”

Ethari sucked in his lower lip, nodding. “Go. They need you.” Behind Runaan’s shoulder, he saw Branneg was waiting still at the door. _Smart._

“But…I…”

“I know. Go.”

“Runaan,” Branneg said again, but Ethari could hear the rueful note in his voice.

With what seemed like every last ounce of willpower he had, Runaan dropped Ethari’s hand and turned away, heading to the door, scooping up his bowblade in the process. Ethari wanted to burst into tears, his hand aching with Runaan’s absence, the kiss burning into his palm, but held it together just long enough for Runaan to give him one last, long look – as though he were trying to memorize every single detail of him, commit it to memory, just in case – before following Branneg out the door.

Then there was silence. Once the hooves and voices had faded into the night, Ethari stood there, in front of the crackling fire, his chest filling with both elation and excruciating pain.

“I love you, too.”

*****

Seventeen days.

Seventeen days since Aisling and Marek’s wedding. Seventeen days since he’d danced with Runaan around the bonfire. Seventeen days since the assassins had been called away so suddenly and unexpectedly. Seventeen days since the words.

_I’m in love with you._

Seventeen days since Ethari had stepped out to the pool after they’d left, imprinting their energies onto their lotuses (no time for a ceremony) and releasing them into the water. Seventeen days that he’d gone back, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute to check, to make sure that Runaan’s – cool, blue light – was still afloat.

_I’m in love with you._

He tried not to feel guilty at how little he focused on the others.

Projects piled up in the shop. Commissions were on hold.

_I’m in love with you._

Nights were the worst. He caught only rare moments of sleep, the anxiety of wanting to check the lotuses offering a cruel form of sleep deprivation. He would lie there, awake, rubbing his palm with his thumb, remembering Runaan’s lips pressed against that spot, imagining what it would feel like to have those lips pressed against other areas. A dull ache throbbed in his groin. It had been quite a while, true – not since Taki – but he knew at this point that a meaningless physical encounter (which had never really been his style anyway – one of the many ways he and Runaan differed) or even just taking care of the problem himself would be akin to drinking salt water. The thirst would only grow worse.

He wanted Runaan. No one and nothing else would do.

But Runaan wasn’t here. Ethari didn’t know where he was, or if he was safe, or on his way home, or if they’d even completed the mission yet. All he knew – the small, cold comfort that it was – was that he wasn’t dead.

_I’m in love with you._

_I should’ve said it back. I should have said it back before he left. What if he has doubts now? What if something happens, and I didn’t tell him?_

“You really need to sleep.”

He turned around to see Lain approaching, dressed simply in his night clothes, hair slightly askew. He cradled a small bundle in his arms, swaddled tightly against the chilly night air. Ethari offered him a tired, commiserative smile.

“Stones from a glass house?”

Lain chuckled. “That’s different. I have a newborn. And this is the only thing that seems to work.” He looked down at his daughter with an expression of utter adoration. Ethari felt his heart squeeze with something that wasn’t fear or anxiety for the first time in weeks.

“How’s little Rayla doing tonight?” 

Lain pressed a kiss to her forehead. “She’s actually passed out cold. She nursed just before I took her out. I wanted Tiadrin to get some guaranteed, uninterrupted rest.” He looked up at the pool, the shining lotuses pinging softly against the water, offering an almost hypnotic, meditative effect.

“Looks like everything is still okay,” he said lightly. Ethari knew he was treading carefully.

“For now,” he whispered.

“He’ll come back, Ethari,” Lain assured him. “He always does.”

Ethari shook his head. “I wish everyone would stop saying that,” he said tiredly. “No one can promise that. These could – ” he pressed a hand to his heart, because saying the words, even _thinking_ them, hurt his chest – “these could sink at any moment.” He voice broke on the last word.

Lain remained stubborn, however. “No. I _can_ promise that.”

Ethari gave him a quizzical look.

“How?”

Lain shrugged, causing Rayla to coo slightly before settling down again. “Because he has something to come back to, now.”

*****

At first, Ethari thought he was dreaming. The commotion seemed distant, imagined. But when Phaedra’s anguished “NO!” pierced the air, it jerked him from his restless slumber. He sat up in his bed, heart pounding.

Phaedra’s son Gefen had been on Runaan’s squad.

A violent wave of nausea tore through him, and he threw his legs out of bed, reaching desperately for his tunic. More and more low, slightly panicked voices filled the courtyard below him and Ethari was certain that his heart had completely stopped beating. He could barely breathe as he tore through the house, down the stairs, through his sitting room and burst out into the courtyard.

His throat burned and his eyes swam with tears as he took in the scene before him. Dozens of villagers gathered around the pond, some crying silently, some standing frozen, some too afraid to look. Phaedra was collapsed at the side of the pool, weeping soundlessly. Others were comforting her, rubbing her back and stroking her hair. In the distance, Ethari could see Sandrin knocking on doors, her face grim, pulling people from their homes for what would be, simply put, the worst night of some of their lives. Aine’s husband. Caiden’s brother. Everyone in Silvergrove knew - deep in their bones - what a midnight knock at the door meant. As they emerged, there was no mistaking the look of dreadful certainty on their faces.

Ethari came dangerously close to fainting as he approached, not entirely sure how his violently shaking legs were even holding him up. The icy terror that flooded his veins and chilled him to the bone was the most intense he’d ever felt. He slowly made his way through the crowd, coming to the edge of the pool, almost too overwhelmed with fear to look. But look he did.

Aine, Caiden and Gefen’s flowers had all sunk. Only two remained: Runaan and Branneg.

Ethari burst into tears. He fell to his knees alongside his kin, crying so hard his ribs hurt and stomach lurched. He sobbed and sobbed, seemingly joining his community in this awful, intense moment of grief.

No one there knew that his tears were actually of relief.

*****

This time, it was Runaan who entered without knocking.

He was sure that Ethari didn’t hear his footsteps, or even the door opening – Runaan had long ago perfected the art of appearing without being heard. It was the fire that gave him away. The gentle breeze from the door blew softly through the hearth, making the flames lick a bit higher than usual. Ethari, who’d been standing before it, looking into the warm glow, noticed the difference immediately. By the time he had turned around to see Runaan standing there, he had already closed the door behind him.

Runaan’s heart clenched. Ethari looked absolutely exhausted – like he hadn’t slept in weeks. And yet, it didn’t matter – even in his exhaustion, and even in Runaan’s devastation and heartbreak at the mission’s tragic turn of events – he was still the most beautiful thing Runaan had ever seen.

Ethari stared at him, and even in the muted light of the fire, Runaan could see his eyes fill with tears. His lips moved wordlessly, trying to say something, but Runaan couldn’t make out what. And he didn’t ask. Instead, he moved.

He was across the room in four strides, ignoring the tender pain in his left side where his rib had been bruised in the attack. The second his hand cupped Ethari’s neck and face, bringing his lips to his own, the discomfort diminished considerably. And when that hand buried itself into Ethari’s hair, drinking from his lips as though he were parched, and the other arm wrapped around his waist to draw him as closely as possible, all pain – even the emotional, _especially_ the emotional – faded completely. His knees buckled, and the next thing he knew he had sunk down onto them in front of the craftsman, burying his face into his middle, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, like he needed to hold him as close as possible just to be sure that he was really there.

Ethari’s response was immediate and desperate. He wrapped his arms around Runaan’s head, fingers burying into his hair, pulling him flush against himself, and Runaan felt as though he was going to dissolve into the other elf’s body – something he wouldn’t have minded in the least. This was amplified tenfold when, to his awe, Ethari sank to his knees as well, cupping Runaan’s face in his palms. Runaan’s heart jumped into his throat. Despite his ample experience, never in a million years did he ever imagine this could feel this way – he honestly felt like he would die - or kill - if someone tried to pull him away from Ethari. Their mouths met again, and they kissed constantly, sucking at each other’s lips as Ethari began to loosen Runaan’s tunic, undoing the sash around his waist. Runaan responded in kind, pulling Ethari’s scarf and shirt up and off, not caring where they landed, his trembling hands immediately returning to the other man’s shoulders and torso, lips attaching to Ethari’s neck with a whimper. Those same hands began to migrate down towards the drawstring of his pants when Ethari planted yet another searing kiss against his lips, cupping his neck. The taste of salt from their mixed tears blossomed on Runaan’s tongue.

“Please,” Ethari whispered between long, deep kisses. “Please, Runaan. I need you. I need all of you. Take me. _Please_.”

The plea in his voice was almost enough to undo Runaan right there on the spot. Still, he managed to comply, because Ethari had asked him to. And as he gently guided him back, down against the plush softness of the carpet - right there in front of the glow of the fire - Runaan knew that he would never be able to deny Ethari anything, as long as he lived.

*****

“I’m pleasantly surprised,” Ethari said languidly, his hands gently cradling one of Runaan’s, lying loosely in front of him on the blankets. Over the course of the last few hours, they, along with a few pillows, had migrated from their usual spot on the couch to join them on the floor.

“About what?” Runaan whispered into his ear, pressing a soft kiss to Ethari’s bare shoulder. The warmth of the fire was comforting, casting a beautiful glow onto Ethari’s already perfect (in Runaan’s opinion, at least) skin.

Ethari smiled. “You didn’t strike me as a cuddler,” he confessed. “Although now that I know you are, it makes sense that you’re the Big Spoon.”

Runaan felt his cheeks grow warm. Ethari turned so that he was facing him, lying forehead to forehead, their legs and arms still intertwined. He stroked the craftsman’s cheek with his thumb.

“You’re not wrong. I never was.” A pause, and he squirmed a tiny bit. “I’ve…never stayed. Afterwards. Before,” he blurted, feeling his cheeks go from warm to hot.

Ethari merely joined him in blushing. “So are you saying I’m special?” he teased.

There was no teasing in Runaan’s reply. “Yes.”

Adoration shone in Ethari’s eyes. He snuggled closer, pressing a soft kiss to Runaan’s lips, smoothing away a few strands of his loosened hair. It was completely unbound, all three feet of it. Ethari didn’t mind in the slightest. He placed a hand on Runaan’s chest, over his heart, soothing the skin there. Runaan’s embrace around him tightened slightly, and Ethari could feel his fear. The same fear that had been just ever so slightly present throughout their entire encounter, where Runaan, as skilled and experienced as he was, had clung to Ethari as though his life depended on it – as though if he let go or loosened his grip even a little, all of this, and Ethari with it, would just disappear.

“It’s okay,” he whispered against Runaan’s forehead. “I’m here. We’re together now. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He had meant it to comfort, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Runaan’s breath shuddered slightly, then hitched. Ethari didn’t need to ask – he knew.

“Do you need to talk about it?” he whispered.

Tears filled Runaan’s eyes. He tried to speak, but couldn’t seem to get the words out. Instead, he buried his face in Ethari’s throat, and for quite possibly for the very first time, allowed himself to truly cry in front of another person. Ethari said nothing, just wrapped his arms around Runaan’s head, pressing his cheek into the crown, stroking his long white hair.

They stayed that way for a while, until the storm had passed, the only other sound in the room the crackling of the logs on the fire. Ethari didn’t pry with any more questions – he could surely get the details of what had happened on the mission later, from someone else if Runaan couldn’t bring himself to talk about it still. Instead, he murmured into the silver hair beneath his lips.

“Tell me what you need. Tell me what you need, and if it’s in my power to give it to you, it’s yours.”

When he was finally composed enough to speak, his voice was still rough with tears, but the words were clear:

“I need this to be real,” Runaan whispered. “I need to know that this is real, and that you’re mine, and…” he swallowed, and if Ethari didn’t know any better he’d say Runaan was almost a little embarrassed, “and no one else’s.”

Ethari felt his heart break at the fear and doubt in Runaan’s voice. He knew that he would need to be patient – that it would take a while for Runaan to really, truly believe him, that all of this was completely new to him – but that was an effort he was only too happy to make.

He scooted down so that they were forehead to forehead again, cupped his face, and kissed him – not softly, this time. Runaan whimpered against his lips, his grip tightening even more, and Ethari felt warm hardness against his hip. He rolled onto his back, bringing Runaan with him, parting his knees, pulling him down into the space he created for him. The clean, fresh scent of Runaan’s hair surrounded him, and he felt like he could drown in it and die happy.

“This is real,” he whispered between kisses. “It’s real, and I’m yours. There’s no one else, Sweetheart. There hasn’t been since the moment I saw you. I promise.” Another long, deep kiss.

“I love you, Runaan.” 

The words were terrifying. There was no denying that. But they were also exhilarating - a soothing balm for Runaan’s frayed soul. And, as he fell into Ethari’s embrace over and over again, all night long, one thing became clear to Runaan, beyond any shadow of uncertainty or hesitation: there were some things in life for which living with fear was worth it.

Ethari was one of them.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
